don’t have a minute. The bus is here, and I need to get on it.” Without another word, she started off toward the bus. To her relief, he stayed upright and leaned on her only a little bit.
“Bus? But my car’s in the parking lot.” His words came out a bit slurred as if pain was dulling his senses.
“No time. Now keep quiet.” Priscilla dug a ten-dollar bill out of her work apron and fed it into the meter. “For both of us,” she told the driver, an older woman wearing a Santa hat with cropped hair and a name tag that read Charlene Grant.
Charlene eyed Mr. Long with an apprehensive expression. “What happened to him?” the driver asked as Priscilla gathered her change from the machine.
“You know how men are.” She gave Charlene a rueful smile. “A teensy cut and he goes all woozy on me.” She jerked her head toward the bandanna. “He’ll be all right.”
Charlene chuckled. “If you say so.”
Priscilla hustled Mr. Long to the back of the bus, plopping him down in the corner, then sitting down beside him as the bus pulled away from the curb.
With deft movements, she untied her work apron with the word Snippy’s and a logo of an animated pair of smiling scissors. At least she had some cash, thanks to the generous tips of her customers. Stuffing the bills into her wallet, she checked to make sure the driver’s attention wasn’t on her and Mr. Long, then shoved the apron underneath her seat. No sense advertising where she worked, especially once the news broke about the shooting.
“You want to tell me what’s going on?”
Priscilla whipped her head to stare into Mr. Long’s deep blue eyes tinged with pain. “Why are you following me?”
A ghost of a smile crossed his lips. “You always answer a question with a question?”
“When I haven’t gotten an answer the first time I asked it, yes.” Something about him triggered a feeling that she should know him. Their encounter hadn’t been recent—of that she was sure. Which meant it predated the shooting that thrust her into witness protection and running for her life. But she’d had so few friends back then and none of them had been a hunky, tall blond man.
“Why am I following you?” The man drew in a steadying breath and let it out slowly. A little color returned to his cheeks. “Because I couldn’t believe I’d finally found you after years of searching.”
A frisson of fear sliced into her. “You’ve been looking for me for years?” She stiffened her spine. It was too late to double guess her decision now. She was stuck with the man.
“Yes, for a very long time.” He held her gaze, his eyes both demanding and pleading with her for what, she didn’t know. All she knew was that she couldn’t look away.
Her phone pinged, indicating an incoming text. She tore her gaze away to check, glad for an excuse to break eye contact. Mac’s text was brief: Traffic better than expected. Get off at the stop by Chick-fil-A. Waiting there.
The bus eased into Fairfax Circle from Old Lee Highway, then swung onto Fairfax Boulevard. The stop Mac indicated would be the next one. She pulled the signal string. “This is our stop.” She would let Mac finish questioning why Mr. Long had been searching for her.
Luc gritted his teeth against the discomfort in his arm. The bullet had gone straight through the upper flesh of his arm, which still seeped some blood through the bandanna. So much for behaving like a man in front of Priscilla. She’d had to practically carry him onto the bus. At least she hadn’t left him in the woods, where he had almost passed out. Why she took him with her he didn’t know, especially as it had become obvious to him that she had no clue who he was. No one could fake that look of unrecognition. The pain of her not recognizing him cut deeper than the bullet.
The bus ground to a halt, and Priscilla rose. “Do you need any help?”
He shook his head as he struggled to stand while a wave of dizziness crashed over him. By sheer willpower, he managed to exit the bus without falling flat on his face. Thank You, Lord.
Once off the bus, Priscilla paused as the driver reentered traffic after picking up passengers. She pointed to a black SUV idling by the curb. “That’s our ride.”
Luc nodded and followed behind her at a slower pace. He placed his hand on the side of the car to steady himself, pleased he hadn’t stumbled and fallen to the ground during the short walk. Priscilla reached the vehicle first and spoke to the driver through the open window.
Priscilla opened the back door. “Get in.”
Probably not a good idea to climb into a car driven by a stranger, but the truth was, he didn’t think he could stand on his own two feet much longer. Besides, he didn’t want to lose sight of Priscilla again. In he climbed, with Priscilla right behind him. The dark interior warmed his body, the back windows heavily tinted. A man in the front had short-cropped hair and wore dark shades and a Bluetooth headset in his ear.
“Did anyone else follow you?” the man asked Priscilla in clipped tones, smoothly merging the SUV into the late-afternoon traffic on Fairfax Boulevard.
“I don’t think so, but I can’t be sure.”
“Right.” The man threw a glance at Luc in the mirror. “How’s your arm?”
Luc glanced down at the bandanna covering the wound. The gray bandanna with pink Yorkshire dogs had only a bit of red smudged along one edge. “Okay. I think it’s stopped bleeding.”
“We’ll get it checked out when we arrive.” The man turned his attention back to the road, his eyes moving from the rearview mirror, to the side mirrors, to the windshield.
“Where are we going?” Luc should have asked that question before getting into the SUV, but where Priscilla was going, he was along for the ride.
“That’s on a need-to-know basis,” the man stated calmly. “Priscilla, you’ll find a first-aid kit under the front passenger seat.”
Luc closed his eyes as the SUV continued north on Fairfax Boulevard. He wanted to ask who the driver was, question why he couldn’t be told their destination, why Priscilla had called this man after the shooting, and a million more questions. But a wet blanket of tiredness and pain settled over him, dulling his senses.
“Mr. Long?” Priscilla’s voice brought him back to reality.
He opened his eyes, focusing on her warm brown ones. Wait a minute. Priscilla had had blue eyes—not a bright vivid blue like his own, but a softer shade like the sky after a gentle summer rain. No, he was sure this was the woman he had married. He wanted to ask her why she acted like she didn’t know him, but with his brain fuzzy from the pain, he should wait until his head was clear to tackle such questions.
“Here’s some ibuprofen for your pain. I’m sorry we don’t have something to wash them down with.” Priscilla ripped open a single-dose pill packet.
When he extended his right hand, she shook the pills into it.
Luc tossed the ibuprofen in his mouth
